


Dogma

by idyll



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-04
Updated: 2005-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-07 10:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idyll/pseuds/idyll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is something sure and true, and it won't ever disappoint or hurt; this is Faith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dogma

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kita](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=kita).



Angel is walking through the streets of uptown Manhattan when Faith falls into step beside him. He stops suddenly in surprise because no one should know where he is; he hasn't been in contact with anyone since Los Angeles, and he took a page out of Lindsey's book to keep from being found.

He stares down at her and she shrugs. "Been in your head, man," is what she says, words spoken around a cigarette that Angel snatches from between her lips and flings to the ground.

"Oh, so it's like that," she drawls, brows arched, and Angel isn't sure what she means, but he doesn't bother asking. He starts walking again, a fast stride that she has to jog to be able to match, and she should look foolish doing it, but she doesn't.

They stalk through the darkened city for hours, taking turns on point and choosing alleys to dip into. They come across random vamps along the way, a few demons here and there, and fighting alongside Faith isn't actually something Angel's done a lot of. He's surprised by how easy it is, how _good_ it feels.

It's different than it was with Buffy; a dark burn as opposed to a righteous ferocity. And it's not right to compare them, he knows how unfair it is to both, has seen the ugly things it brings out in each, but he can't help it. His Slayers, these two, in this time when there are Slayers everywhere. Faith maybe more his than Buffy ever will be because--well, because that's the mood he's in tonight, at this particular moment.

After Faith snaps the neck of a tentacled demon in yet another dirty alley, Angel launches himself over the corpse. He catches Faith around the middle and has her against the alley wall in mere seconds, his hands hard on her thighs as he hauls her legs around his waist, mouth bruising and crushing against her lips.

Faith goes with it, fights for more, and it makes Angel unaccountably angry. Furious, even. He grabs her chin, shoves her head back.

"You're better than this," he hisses.

Faith's face gets hard and blank, and she pushes him away, drops to her feet. "And you're not?"

Angel follows her to the fancy hotel she's staying at, rides in the elevator with her up to her suite, and he remembers the dive motel she used to call home and the Plexiglas and orange jumpsuit of her prison days. She peels off her jacket, tosses it onto a chair, and Angel steps up behind her, brushes her hair to the side and touches his scar on her neck.

"I'm better than this," he tells her quietly and she shivers.

On the bed, Faith lays on her back, opens herself to him, and Angel knows it's a gift, a rarely-if-ever bestowed honor, Faith being on the bottom. Angel fucks her slowly, steadily, surely--coasts along on a low tide of desire. It's not a flaring passion and heady love. It's not anything that can ever ebb or flow, or something built on hope and vulnerable to reality. This is something sure and true, and it won't ever disappoint or hurt: this is Faith.

Angel leans down and she turns her head to the side, white scar tissue gleaming in the dim light from the lamp on the bedside table. His face shifts, and Faith's flesh gives like velvet under his fangs, and she comes before he's even swallowed the first mouthful.

Her blood is power and strength and a gasoline fire lit in his veins, and it's not fair to compare them in any way but to do so in blood would be traitorous, blasphemous, so he doesn't and he won't. He drinks from her and she keeps coming, cunt dancing around his cock like the lifting of veils to a siren song, Salome swaying on the shoals, luring and tempting and beckoning him to _come_, and he does.

*   
.End


End file.
